My Secret Friend
by BlazeorFade
Summary: After the events of Number Crunch, Finch is targeted by Snow, so Reese does what he does best


**Title: My Secret Friend**

**Author: Blazeorfade**

**Rating: M **

**Pairing: Reese/Finch Preslash. Reese-centric with mentions of Hurt!Finch.**

**Warnings: Violence, and torture.**

**Summary: When Mark Snow targets Finch, Reese does what he does best.**

**A/N: Written for the Person of Interest Holiday Fic X-change for Whiplashfics, who wanted: **_**"Hurt!Finch and BAMF!Reese. Gritty and bleak, but with the unspoken understanding that these guys are BFFs. Preferably gen, but slash works too." **_**The title is from the song 'My Secret Friend' by IAMX ft. Imogen Heap. My First POI fic. Feedback is awesome!**

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><p>"How long have we known each other, Mark?" Reese inquired. He observed the man tied<p>

to the chair, cool and calm, voice even as he spoke. Mark just stared at him, a mix of barely

contained fear and rage chasing across his features. Reese smiled coldly; he hadn't lost his touch.

"Mark," He chastised lightly when no answer was forthcoming, "It's rude not answer a

question from an old friend."

He leaned over the bound man, whispered, "I expected more from you, really." Reese

snapped one of Mark's fingers, reveling in the small intake of breath that the bastard failed to

conceal.

"T-twenty years. We've known each other twenty years, you sonuvabitch." Mark spat

out.

"Thank you Mark." Reese mock praised him. He stepped back, surveying his handy

work. Cuts, shallow and deep, ran along Mark's torso, a particularly vicious one over his

collarbone bled sluggishly and the tic-tac-toe pattern Reese made over his old friend's abdomen

was starting to turn, the smell of impending infection familiar and sickening at once. He'd saved

the fingers till now, knowing from experience that people had a rather visceral reaction to the

sound of their bones breaking. Reese supposed he should feel ashamed or disgusted with the

depths of violence he was still capable of but the seething, consuming anger blocked all of it,

making him numb to everything else.

"You'd think, after all these years, you'd know better," Reese murmured, retrieving a

pair of pliers.

"Never touch what's mine."

Mark tried to lean back out of instinct as Reese walked past him, pausing on his way to

Mark's partner.

"Now, Mark, I want you to pay attention to this." Reese told him, gesturing towards the

other assassin.

The unnamed sniper was unconscious from blood loss, but Reese didn't need him awake

for this, he just needed his partner to watch what he'd caused. Mark Snow had brought this

person to New York, pointed him at Reese like a weapon, then when that didn't work he pointed

him at Finch. So Reese was going to dismantle him the way he would an enemy's deadly

weapon.

"What do you hope to accomplish here, John?" Mark asked as Reese positioned the pliers

of the middle knuckle on the sniper's trigger finger. "We received the same training. I won't

break, just like you wouldn't, John. John!" An edge of hysteria was starting to bleed into Mark's

voice. They'd been at this for the better part of twelve hours.

"But I did break once, Mark and you knew that." Reese said calmly. He looked at Mark

as he closed the pliers, pressing until he heard bone start to crack and No Name cried out,

brought out of the darkness to a world of pain. "I broke when Jessica was taken." He released the

broken finger, moving to the next digit, applying slow pressure, twisting till he wrenched an

agonized scream from No Name.

Reese moved behind No Name, clapping his hand over his mouth to leaning far over to

look Mark in the eye as he spoke. "See, I think you knew what her death did to me, being my

friend and all," Something in his expression must have change because for the first time that day,

Mark looked genuinely afraid. "So you saw my friend Finch help me when you shot me and you

had an idea. Am I right?"

"This won't work. They'll just s-send someone else." Mark sputtered.

"You wanted to take the only friend I have left and try to drag whatever was left of me

back to the agency." Every word was punctuated by the tightening of the hand covering No

Name's mouth and nose, while the man thrashed, trying fruitlessly to get precious air.

"No, they won't Mark." Reese smiled, predatory, a macabre parody of the expression. "Finding your partner was too easy. What are they teaching these new agents at the Farm

nowadays?"

"Who do you think pointed me towards you? He had a lot to say after the first couple of hours, including the codes for this op, who to call with the confirmation of the kill, so much to

say."

Mark closed his eyes, swallowing down the mucus and blood in an effort to put off

the inevitable pleading he despised hearing so much in his own previous captives. It would fall

on deaf ears. John Reese did not give mercy. And when he didn't need something from a mark,

when he was done gleaning what intelligence he needed and all that was left was a shattered

human being, he ended it.

Reese watched with the fight die in Mark's eyes. No Name stopped thrashing. This was

never about information. It was a perk, of course, a way to make sure he stayed dead and ensured

Finch's safety. No, this endeavor was about making Mark and his pet killer suffer for the fear he

felt when saw the window of the library shatter inward, when he heard the surprised gasp from

Finch as he stumbled, looking down at the blood flowing from his abdomen, then up at Reese.

He had never felt so helpless, so terrified and for that they had to pay.

"Goodbye Mark." Reese said releasing No Name, so his head flopped lifelessly forward.

He retrieved his gun from the table strewn with bloody tools and shot Mark just as he was taking

a breath to beg for his life.

The gunshot echoed in the small room. Reese breathed heavily, his anger taking over. He

wanted more, he wanted to kill them again, make them suffer more, he wanted-

'You want to get cleaned up and get rid of these bodies.' Reese thought to himself. He

pushed back the anger to where it couldn't take hold again. This would take hours to clean up

and he had to keep his head about him. The sooner he started the process of keeping John Reese

and Harold Finch dead, the sooner he could go to the safe house where Dr. Tilman was caring for

Finch to watch over the man, as he always would.

_**-FIN**_


End file.
